


Order and Chaos

by BenvolioPontmercy



Category: The Imitation Game (2014)
Genre: Broken Bones, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hospitalization, I honestly feel kind of bad writing about people who actually lived, M/M, Pain, Wow ok, but god their story is so sweet, i just want to love them forever, precious babies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 07:37:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3200915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenvolioPontmercy/pseuds/BenvolioPontmercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christopher was Alan’s order.  He was the peas and the carrots staying away from each other on the plate.  He was the balance that Alan desired—no, needed—and the driving force in keeping him afloat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Order and Chaos/混乱与秩序](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3207872) by [kiii17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiii17/pseuds/kiii17)



> I really want some critiquing on this one. I'm proud of it, and think it's one of the better things I've written, but I really want outside opinions. Drop a comment, please! Don't worry at all about sounding harsh, I promise you I can take it.
> 
> I'm trying to leave their relationship as ambiguous as possible. Are they friends? Are they more than friends? Does Christopher like Alan as much as Alan likes him? As is true of their actual history, who knows!

White, puffed clouds floated lazily in the sky above Sherborne School like steam from a kettle. It was a sunny day, and Alan Turing had slipped quietly into the shade of his favorite elm tree in the schoolyard so as to not burn his milky skin. From this spot, he had an unobstructed view of all the other boys, while still being far enough removed to not be noticed.

Alan hated being noticed.

He closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly as his mind filled with images of laughing faces. Of dark spaces, of haunting echoes. Of the orange and the green mixing when he knew, Alan knew that couldn’t happen. There was order and there was chaos. He spent his whole life trying to maintain the order, to keep the orange and the green apart, but the chaos—it was growing, every day it was growing, threatening to overthrow the order that Alan spent every single moment trying to maintain, and—

“Hello.”

Alan slowly opened his eyes, blinking away the sunspots that were clouding his vision. He drew in a sharp breath when he realized it was Christopher, and smiled softly.

Christopher was the one piece of order that remained constant in Alan’s life. His hands, soft from an aversion to physical labor, with nails bitten down to the quicks. His hair, softer than the finest minks, which would fall into his face as he pored over a new cipher. His eyes, which held more wisdom than his seventeen years warranted, and never held the malice of the other boys’. Alan knew Christopher would never change, and believed he had even come to understand him. Alan didn't understand most people. He didn't understand why they kept talking about girls, or why they couldn't pass their maths, or why they always wanted to hurt him. All he knew was that he wasn't the same as they were. How did they always know what to do, what to say? Why was he the only person they wanted to hurt? Alan would frequently ask these questions of Christopher, who would reply with a soft, "I don't know" and stroke Alan's hair. Why was Christopher the only one Alan understood?

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice that a piece of notepaper had been slipped gently into his hands until Christopher had cooed his name multiple times.

“Sorry,” he murmured, looking down at his hands, his pale cheeks coloring a peachy red. He was so stupid. He couldn’t even tell when people were talking to him. He noticed that Christopher’s hands were lingering over his, and his blush deepened to a burgundy. Such soft hands, with thumbs tracing circles along Alan’s palms.

“It’s alright, I understand. You lose focus sometimes. Everybody does, Alan.” He drew his hands away. “Stop blushing, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I understand.”

Alan couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t result in all of his pent up feelings gushing out like water from a broken pipe, so instead he silently opened the paper he was handed.

“FRIEND: XFZVLLBRARBWFSTIGRMVTTLRZWZSZWMVJYYONVACRVYVZHNB”

After blinking a few times, Alan said matter-of-factly, “You know I can’t stand Vigenere ciphers. All the words get mushed together, there’s no order.”

Christopher grinned slyly. “But it takes such an elegant graph to decode them. A Vigenere chart is nothing if not the epitome of order.” Alan knew Christopher was trying to ease him slowly out of his comfort zone. He appreciated the effort, but he enjoyed himself perfectly fine where it was, well, comfortable.

“Can we just stick to Caesar ciphers? Please,” mumbled Alan, rubbing circles into hands where Christopher had been just moments before.

After a few seconds, Christopher exhaled loudly. “Alright. But don’t complain if I throw in a few combination ciphers! You’re better at this than I am, so you can’t expect me to take it easy on you.” He wrapped his arm around Alan and pulled him closely in.

Christopher was Alan’s order. He was the peas and the carrots staying away from each other on the plate. He was the balance that Alan desired—no, needed—and the driving force in keeping him afloat.

Leaning his face carefully against Alan’s, Christopher whispered a series of letters. “B R X U H S H U I H F W D O D Q B R X U H V R S H U I H F W”

Alan purred a response under his breath, so softly that not even Christopher could hear him.

“L O R Y H B R X”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to decode the ciphers, the first is a Vigenere with the keyword "friend". The second is a basic Caesar cipher.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and, again, please drop a critique in the comments!
> 
> I'm very proud to be the first person to write for this pairing, and I hope I did at least some justice to my hero Alan Turing, may he rest in peace.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ask and ye shall receive! Sorry for the delay- college just started back up, plus I was in the hospital for a while. Enjoy! I've loved everything you kind people have had to say, so continue leaving your sweet, sweet comments!
> 
> Also- there's a Russian translation of the first chapter up at http://ficbook.net/readfic/2882106 , in addition to kiii17's Chinese translation here on AO3. Feel free to translate this and/or the first chapter into any language you'd like, as long as you credit me and leave a link in the comments. Thank you!
> 
> I edit my own work, so if you see any mistakes, pretty please let me know so I can fix it!

After ten minutes in the ambulance, Alan’s wails began to sync up with the wails of the siren. Christopher was at his side, holding his hand and stumbling through apology after apology.

“I didn’t think you would fall.”

“I wouldn’t have dared you if I knew something would go wrong.”

“I’m so sorry, Alan.”

Alan could tell that Christopher was rambling, but his senses were skewed and he couldn’t make out any of the words. All he knew was the shooting pain in his leg. He was crying, almost as loudly as the time he was nailed under the floorboards. His nails were digging into anything they could get at, even Christopher’s hand, which had grabbed Alan’s in an attempt to calm him.

Pain was the ultimate chaos. A pure human reaction to a stimulus, raw and passionate.

All Alan wanted was to impress Christopher. He had never been dared to do something—none of the other boys like him enough to include him in their games. He had been the subject of a dare plenty of times, though. Bad things tended to happen to him when he was the subject of a dare. It seemed there was nothing the other boys wanted more than to watch him suffer. “I dare you to trip Alan when he’s walking to his desk.” That one was always popular. He would hear them talk about it, hear them snickering, but he would walk to his desk anyway. Even if they were laughing at him, he still felt included. For once, he would be a part of something.

When Christopher dared him to climb to the top of “their” tree, Alan was more than willing to oblige. Anything for Christopher. He was smiling his devious grin, and Alan wanted to do anything to keep that smile on his face. He knew nothing about climbing trees, but that grin made him feel like he could climb it three times over.

Hastily, Alan grabbed onto the tree’s rough, peeling bark, and struggled to find a foothold. He had barely shimmed a few inches off the ground before he started to slip and grabbed the closest branch. A splinter dug into his skin, but he couldn’t stop yet. Not if he wanted to impress Christopher. Alan delicately pulled his left foot, then his right foot, onto the bough he was hanging from, and stood gingerly, grasping the next highest branch with one hand and the trunk of the tree with the other. He followed this process, awkwardly climbing and shimmying his way higher until he had gotten close to the top.

At this point, he felt confident enough to look down, where he saw that a crowd had amassed to watch him. He became aware of a jeering coming from those who were watching, a call for him to lose his balance and hurt himself. His breath hitched in his throat, he scanned the crowd until his eyes met with Christopher’s.

Christopher was laughing.

Alan began to feel unbalanced. Was Christopher just laughing at him along with the others? He thought Christopher respected him. Was he wrong? Was he just a joke to everybody?

For as much as he didn’t want to prove everybody right, when Alan’s foot began to slip, he allowed himself to fall. Time seemed to be standing still as he plummeted through the trees, until he hit the ground with a resounding crack. He was overwhelmed with a crashing wave of pain and the sound of cheering from those around him. A droning quickly filled his ears, drowning out the laughter and the cheering until the only thing he could hear was Christopher shrieking his name out.

“Alan! Oh my god, Alan! Somebody, please, call a doctor!”

Alan’s eyes fluttered open, and he realized he was in the hospital. He must have fallen unconscious in the ambulance, because the last thing he remembered was digging his nails into Christopher’s—

Christopher! Alan shot up in bed, but slipped back down when his vision turned black from the pain of the sudden movement.

“Christ, be careful, I don’t want you hurting yourself again!” Christopher was sitting at the side of Alan’s bed, his knees pulled into his chest. He laughed feebly, and Alan could see that he had just been crying. His brown eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and he kept rubbing at his already-red nose, making it brighter.

Alan’s eyes were wide, and kept darting around, afraid to make contact with Christopher’s eyes for too long. He balled his fists into the hospital sheets.

“At least it was just your leg that you broke—you only need your arms for writing codes!” Christopher laughed feebly again in an attempt to lighten the mood. When Alan continued to silently look away, Christopher sighed. “Listen. I know that what happened was my fault. It was just another stupid attempt of mine to get you out of your comfort zone. Christ, how come any time I try to help, things just end up worse than before? The other boys are such buggers, butting in like that and laughing at you. Like they could do any better! You were doing spectacularly, Alan. I’m so sorry.”

His mouth slightly agape, Alan looked back into Christopher’s eyes. He was crying again, and there was nothing Alan could do to not break down with him.

“You weren’t laughing at me?”

“What? Jesus, no! Well—yes, I suppose. I was laughing because you were doing so well, Alan. I was impressed with you. When I dared you, I didn’t think you’d say yes, let alone climb as far as you did! You never cease to amaze, do you?” Alan began to blush. “Listen, I’m so glad you’re alright. You'll never know how glad I am. I have to get to class or else the professor will kill me, but I’m so glad you’re ok.”

Standing up, Christopher grinned his devious grin and rustled Alan’s hair. He walked to the door in his usual gentle manner, on his toes with his heels barely grazing the ground. When he shut the door behind him, Alan noticed something written on his cast:

“Fo et fn la et ir gn ef te  
Oc em us er ts ot ht ge ao ;l  
Na td eh wy oh aw kl ni ad kr en ss em te  
Ht se nu ir es fo ht se uo .l”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a pair-swap transposition cipher. It's a more difficult one to crack if you don't know the key, so I'll give you a hint: Rely on Henry Van Dyke for this one. ;)
> 
> (Let me know if you can't crack it. If it's too difficult, I'll change it.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm finally back! I promise I didn't abandon this story- I just had a bit of writer's block.
> 
> To help with that, if anybody has an idea for a future chapter, PLEASE drop it in the comments! I would adore a bit of inspiration right now!

“EWOHO YLZIB LMUOB SEWOA NGSAY LLTOS SLAUW OANGG SDYRE ERSCY ALLUT YOLLT HEAUR ODWIB UFICO NOIDM ITNNO WLMBY RHLRU IBERN IKWEM LTIME ETHDL AHOIE OODEV ENNAN.  
-Morcom”

Alan had been staring at the note for hours, and found himself no closer to solving it than when he started. It couldn’t be a Vigenere cipher—there was no key. He tried every combination of letters he could for a Caesar cipher, and none worked. Besides, every word was five letters. He didn’t know any ciphers that did that.

Christopher was on holiday, so Alan had to solve the code entirely on his own. If he didn’t have it cracked before Christopher was back, he would be absolutely mortified. Coding was the only reason Christopher even spent any time with him. Why would Christopher continue being friends with Alan if he could even crack a bloody cipher?

Alan shut his eyes and rubbed them until spots began to appear. He knew that Christopher wouldn’t stop seeing him just because he couldn’t solve a code. It was just…

The two of them met for the first time in 1926, as Alan was on his way to Sherborne. It was May 6th, and a general strike had bubbled up in the area a few days before. Millions of coal miners flooded the streets, drunken and roaring about unsafe conditions. His mother, Ethyl, was worried for his safety and tried to keep her son safe from the chaos in the streets. She refused to take him to the school. But Alan wouldn’t listen, and on the morning of May 5th, he snuck out of his house on his bike and headed for his school. In the haze of the dawn, he could see fires lit by protesters all around him.

He had to stay at an inn in Bath that night, and it was his first night away from his family. He told himself he would be strong, but as soon as he snuffed out the lamp, tears began to prick at his eyes. Alan buried his face in his pillow in an attempt to drown out the sound of the sobs, but it apparently didn’t work, as a knock soon came on the door.

“Hello?” called out a voice from the other side. “I’m sorry if I’m intruding, but I wondered if you needed any company?”

Alan took in a sharp breath and tried to dry his eyes off. “Did I disturb you? I’m sorry, I—This is my first time on my own in the countryside. I suppose I’m just homesick.”

The voice laughed, and Alan blushed. Were they laughing at him?

“It’s my first time out here, too. Do you mind if I come in?”

Alan smiled and hurried to relight the gas lamp. “No—no, not at all. Come in, please.”

The door creaked open, and Alan’s heart caught in his throat. In walked the most beautiful boy he had ever seen, with tousled curls and a crooked grin. Having grown up in Maida Vale, Turing was used to everybody being dressed to the nines no matter what the occasion, but here was a boy in a raggedy blouse and peg legged trousers standing in his doorway, illuminated by the light from the hall. So distracted by the beautiful stranger, Alan burned himself with the match for his lamp.

“Ah!”

“Oh, goodness, are you alright?” The boy jumped forward and grabbed Alan’s hand. “Ah, it’s a slight burn. Here.” He tore off a strip of fabric from the sleeve of his shirt, and wrapped it around Alan’s palm. “I was always getting into messes at home,” he explained, “and my mum had to bandage me up so frequently that I just learned to do it myself.”

He smiled his goofy grin again, and Alan’s ears burned. He could barely hear anything except the sound of his heart drumming steadily.

“My name’s Christopher. Christopher Morcom.” He put out his hand to shake Alan’s, then put it down. “Right. Bandages.” He laughed at himself and shook his head.

Alan blinked a few times, almost too dazed to do anything, before nodding. “Alan. Turing. It’s very nice to meet you, Christopher.”

“So, Alan, you mentioned this is your first time here alone! Where are you here from? I’m up in Droitwich Spa.”

“Maida Vale, in London. I biked here.”

“Why would you bike here?” Christopher sat on Alan’s bed, sealing the distance between the two of them even further, and Alan hoped his blush wasn’t visible in the dim light. “Doesn’t Maida have a tube system?”

“There’s a strike going on in London. The tubes are shut down. I didn’t tell my parents I left, but they shouldn’t be worried. They know exactly where I’m headed. I’m going to Sherborne, to start school there, and—”

“What a coincidence,” interjected Christopher, “that’s where I’m headed, too! My mum and pop took me out of my last school. I got along well enough with the other kids there, but I think they all saw me as somewhat queer. Y’see, I’ve always been into cryptography and ciphers, taking sentences and things and turning them into a code. My pop was in the Great War, and he taught me all the neat tricks he learned there.

Alan looked up, eyebrows raised. He had never tried cryptography before, but it fascinated him to no end, studying its use in the Great War. “What types of codes do you know?”

“Mostly the basics. Caesar, Vigenere, Number-to-Letter, that type of thing. But recently…“ He began fishing around in his pocket, and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. “My pop gave me this before I left. Said it’s a, uh, Mystic… No. Er, Miks… No…”

“A Myszkowski cipher?”

“Yes! Exactly! A Myszkowski cipher, with the keyword ‘Morcom’.”

Alan shook his head. “I’ve studied those. They’re some of the hardest codes to break. It’ll take you all night.”

“Well, not to be pushy, but I’d rather not be alone tonight. It’s lonely without my family. I assume you wouldn’t want to be alone either, judging from how you were when I came in. No offense.” Christopher grinned again. “So, that said, would you maybe want to work on this code together tonight?”

Alan nodded frantically before he could even piece together everything Christopher had said. All he knew was that he needed to spend more time with the angelic boy, even if that meant getting no sleep in order to solve a puzzle.

Suddenly, Alan’s eyes snapped open. It was 1928 again, not 1926, and he was in his room at Sherborne instead of an inn. Slowly but surely, a smile crept over his lips as he realized he knew exactly how to solve Christopher’s most recent code.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the code is a Myszkowski cipher with the key "Morcom". These guys are crazy- I had a hard enough time encoding it, and I imagine decoding it might be even worse! As a hint, the two spaces on the right side of the very bottom of your decoding grid will be blank.
> 
> Thank you all for reading! Let me know of any spelling/grammar/coding mistakes I may have made!


End file.
